


Three Times Elizabeth Anderson Failed Her Brother (And One Time She Absolutely Didn't)

by idoltina



Series: Elizabeth Anderson [1]
Category: Glee
Genre: Cancer, Character Death, Explicit Language, Gen, Homophobia, M/M, Other, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-31
Updated: 2011-03-31
Packaged: 2017-11-21 19:57:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/601510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idoltina/pseuds/idoltina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Elizabeth Anderson knew her brother was gay at the age of seven.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Times Elizabeth Anderson Failed Her Brother (And One Time She Absolutely Didn't)

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings (if any):** Character death, language, homophobia, violence.

Elizabeth Anderson knew her brother was gay at the age of seven. In a schoolyard game of softball, she stood toeing the gray dirt near the dugout with her sneaker. One glance in her twin brother's direction told her all she needed to know. Her eyes followed his figure, watched his mop of curly hair bounce as he shifted sideways from his position at shortstop to third; his fingers stretched out to grasp those of an unsuspecting Blake Edwards. A loud, metallic crack rang across the yard: Blake ran forward in pursuit of the small, round object, Blaine jerked his hand back, trembling, and Elizabeth's heart seized. Blaine wouldn't come out to his sister until the age of twelve -- to the rest of the world a year later -- but that day, as their knees bobbed up and down the flight of stairs to their classroom, Elizabeth took her twin's hand in a silent promise: _I will not fail you._

But she did.

*****

_I got taunted at my old school, and it really... pissed me off. I even complained about it to the faculty, and they were sympathetic and all, but you could just tell that nobody really cared. It was just like, “Hey, if you're gay, you're life's just gonna be miserable. Sorry. Nothing we can do about it.” So I left. I came here. Simple as that. I ran. I didn't stand up. I let bullies chase me away, and it something that I really, really regret._

“He's gay.”

“ _Gay_.”

“So what does that even _mean_? Does that mean he looks at the other boys in the locker room? Oh my God, do you think he _likes_ one of them?”

Elizabeth's ears burned. The two girls on the other side of her locker door continued to talk in low, scathing tones. One of the freshman was _gay_ , they were talking about him, they were talking about _Blaine_. Transferring her biology textbook from her backpack to the top shelf of her locker, she snapped quietly, “It means he likes boys. Is there a _problem_ with that?”

The taller of the two girls blushed furiously but her companion merely rolled her eyes. “No, not at all,” she countered. “It just means you can both sit around and talk about those musicals you love so much and how hot Jake Gyllenhaal was in _Brokeback Mountain_.” Elizabeth slammed her locker door shut as the girl leaned closer, dropping her voice. “ _Did he get off on that_?” A cough sent Elizabeth whirling around; Blaine stood next to her, face buried in his locker. Seething, she turned to lash out but the girls had gone, laughter echoing down the hall.

Elizabeth refocused her attention on her brother. “Blaine.” No response. “ _Blaine_.” Silence met her again and she took a step forward, slamming his locker door shut; his eyes were wet with tears. “Oh, Blaine.”

He leaned his head against the locker. “I just... I thought...” His voice quavered. “I just thought it would be easier, coming out, you know? I wouldn't have to hide anymore, wouldn't have to lie.” He sighed before straightening, meeting his sister's gaze. “I'm not ashamed of who I am, you know. I just --”

“-- wish other people weren't, I know,” she said. She'd been finishing his sentences for as long as she could remember, answered every line of song, met every simple gesture. “Prejudice is just... ignorance, Blaine. And ignorance isn't bliss, I don't care what anyone says. They're scared of anything different. But you're not alone, Blaine. You know that, right?”

Blaine smiled, reaching for Elizabeth's hand. “I'm lucky you're here with me, Lizzie.”

*****

The taunting got worse. At first, it was tame. People gossiped behind his back, and he didn't make many friends. Jokes were made at his expense but it was child's play, nothing at all compared to what was to come that spring. March brought jocks throwing homophobic slurs in his face, notes shoved in his backpack. “Tell someone,” Elizabeth hissed at him one afternoon. “If you don't use your voice, they're going to keep getting away with it.” In April, the twins stopped attending church, much to the anguish of their mother ( _Really_ , Blaine, what will people think? You're overreacting, Elizabeth.) when the pastor gave a sermon blasting homosexuality as a choice, claiming, “God didn't make people this way.” Their father didn't speak to them for three weeks after that.

But May... May was the worst. Blaine came home with a black eye on Friday after someone had 'bumped' into his shoulder and sent him cascading face first into a stair railing. Elizabeth spent the weekend in his bedroom, a stack of DVDs on his nightstand, a series of ice packs rotating between the freezer and Blaine's face. And on Monday, they walked towards their lockers in better spirits until --

Across their lockers, in a bright red, sticky substance, dripped a single word: _FAG_. Blaine paled. “Is that... is that _blood_?” he whispered.

Elizabeth's stomach clenched and she fought to keep her wits about her. “No,” she insisted through gritted teeth. “It's ketchup or something. It's --” But it didn't matter what it was; the word seemed to finally strike Blaine and he bolted, turning on his heels, the bathroom door swinging in his wake. Elizabeth caught the glares of the people around her. No one spoke, no one moved. There were no apologies, no offers of help, no confessions. They simply stared. She turned on her heel and followed her twin into the bathroom, dropping her backpack to the floor and kneeling beside him in the stall as his stomach heaved. She reached out a hand tentatively; the second her fingertips brushed his back he fell into her embrace, his body wracked with sobs. His hysteria ebbed hers. His body shook; hers remained still. Her arms engulfed his figure, her warmth against his cold, her hands running up and down his frame. “I can't,” he choked out, “I can't do this anymore, Lizzie. I can't. Ican't _Ican'tIcan't_.”

She was quiet for a moment. “There's a school,” she said softly. “A boys school.” Blaine's breathing evened out; his hands found her knees and she hesitated, not wanting to move her hands to his just yet. “They have a policy there. It's not like here. Stuff like this, it doesn't happen there. They don't tolerate it. It's... It'll get better for you, Blaine.”

“You want me to leave?”

Elizabeth blanched. “ _No_ ,” she enthused. “I want you to be safe. I want you to be _happy_. You won't get that here. I'm trying to _help_ you.”

Within the week, Elizabeth sat perched on the edge of Blaine's bed, leaning against his pillows as her brother stood in front his mirror, adjusting his red and navy tie. “How do I look?”

Her heart sank to her stomach but she plastered a smile on her face. “Dapper.” Blaine smiled and ran his fingers through his hair.

He came home after his first day at Dalton with a smile on his face.

That fall, Elizabeth boarded a plane for a school in Switzerland. It was the furthest and longest they'd been apart in their entire lives. Every Saturday they calculated the time difference and sat curled up in front of their webcams, hearts stretching out over the distance. “You're so far away,” he complained one session. “I ran to Dalton and you ran to Switzerland,” he teased.

She made a snarky comment in reply, biting back the acidic words eating at her soul: _I ran. I failed._

*****

_You can refuse to be the victim. Prejudice is just ignorance._

Elizabeth watched her brother grow and age, become comfortable in his own skin again via webcam once a week. Within a week of the start of the fall semester, she noted that he'd started putting product in his hair. “Seriously, private school is turning you into a poster boy for a 1940s Tom Ford film, Blaine.” By September, he dropped names -- Wes, David -- and told her in no uncertain terms that he wasn't interested in them, they were only his friends. Elizabeth bit back a smile at that. In November, he mentioned an audition for the school's show choir and after that, he mentioned little else.

In April, Blaine lamented over the fact that she never told him what her life in Switzerland was like. “I feel like a conversation hog; I talk all of the time. I miss the sound of your voice.” Guilt swelled in Elizabeth's gut at that; she didn't eat for a week. The school year came and went and Elizabeth returned for the summer. The days were never the same but at night they developed a routine: frozen yogurt from the shop down the street, a duet as they walked six blocks to the park, stargazing underneath the domed jungle gym.

“Do you remember coming here when we were kids?” he asked her one night, metallic bars obscuring their study of the expanse above them. She made a slight buzzing noise in acknowledgment. “Do you remember when I skinned my knees? I couldn't hold onto the monkey bars and I fell onto the cement.”

“You've still got a scar,” Elizabeth commented.

“You took my hand and walked me home and didn't let go even when Mom poured rubbing alcohol on me. And I didn't even have to tell her what happened because you said it all for me. You took the words right out of my mouth.”

“Is this some delayed reaction to me being bossy as a child?” she quipped.

Blaine chuckled. “No. I'm trying to tell you how much I appreciate you, Lizzie.”

“Rather inarticulately.”

“Shut up.”

“You're just gushing because you don't want me to go back to Switzerland. You're trying to get me to stay,” she chided.

“And if I were?” Elizabeth turned her head sideways; Blaine mirrored her. His hazel eyes pierced her green ones; her heart skipped a few beats. “You're my other half, Lizzie. You're my twin for a reason. You know every thought I have and every feeling I have every moment that I have it. You finish my sentences and you'd rather spend your time with me than anyone else. You'll listen to me gush about boys and my love for _Rent_. You laugh at my jokes when they aren't funny and you never lie to me.”

“I'm your sister,” she said lamely. “I'm _supposed_ to do those things.”

“No,” he said slowly. “No, you're not. You could treat me the same way everyone else does, the same way Dad does, and you don't. You've always tried with me, Lizzie. You've always cared.”

“You're my brother,” she said through a smile. “I love you.”

“That's my point. When I'm old and gray and covered in wrinkles, still bumbling about making a mess out of my life, you're still going to love me, even when I make mistakes.” Blaine moved his gaze to the sand beneath them. “I just don't understand why you have to go back,” he murmured. “I'd much rather have you here.”

“You're going back to Dalton in the fall,” she reminded him.

“It's not the same,” he said bitterly. “You're across an ocean. You're halfway around the world. And you're taking a piece of me with you.” Suddenly, Blaine wasn't sixteen anymore, he was mature beyond his years and a child all at the same time, the very embodiment of sophomoric.

Elizabeth reached for his hand and they counted the stars that spanned the 4,348 miles between them.

*****

In the fall, the name _Kurt_ fell from Blaine's lips, foreign and breathy. He told Elizabeth Kurt's story, tried to justify his actions left and right. “And, okay, maybe I drove all the way out to his school but he was assaulted and I had to do _something_ , I had to help him. I couldn't just stand by and let him suffer... I know what that's like.” Except for the last five words, this was a Blaine beyond Elizabeth's recognition, someone brave and assertive, comfortable enough in his own skin to help someone else be the same. She'd missed out on a lot, she realized, by running. The thread between them felt a little weaker, the ends a little frayed, and she clung on a little tighter. Winter passed and February muddled her comprehension as her brother complained bitterly about unrequited love, sought her advice over affections he'd never sought. “He likes me, Lizzie. Kurt _likes_ me.” By then, Elizabeth knew better than to push or pull; Kurt had, quite clearly, become a very important part of Blaine's life in her absence. With each passing conflict -- “Why doesn't matter what my sexuality is? Why can't he just support me?” -- she watched a second thread stem from Blaine's other hand, extending to Kurt, twisting and twining into a thick rope. “I like that Kurt and I are honest with each other. It helps, spending time with him. I don't... I don't feel like I have to be someone I'm not.” In March, she watched it catch fire and solidify: “...I think I have feelings for Kurt. I kissed him, Lizzie. Fuck, I _kissed_ him.” Her grip on the thread slacked a little and then grabbed hold in a vice like fashion again: Kurt had gotten to him in ways she couldn't. She felt her heart sink in loss and explode in joy all at once.

When she returned in the summer, she arrived ahead of every Fed-Ex box she shipped. She walked in the front door, her senses tingling, her pores burning; she moved instinctively, searching for her brother. Elizabeth rounded the corner to the kitchen and stopped dead in her tracks: there was her other half, the piece that had been slowly vanishing over the last two years. Blaine had a hand wrapped around the back of Kurt's neck, pressing into his body, Kurt's back hitting the marble kitchen island, their lips pressed together and moving eagerly, familiarly. She watched Blaine _fuse_ into Kurt and short-circuited. It wasn't until Kurt removed his hand from the the cold surface behind him and reached for Blaine's hand that she even reacted at all. A breath left her chest rather haphazardly and the boys broke apart, searching for the source.

“Lizzie,” Blaine breathed. He moved towards her but Elizabeth was too quick for him. In two strides, she crossed the room and stood on tiptoe to throw a bone-crushing hug, not on Blaine, but on Kurt. Kurt stood rigid, glancing at Blaine with wide eyes. “My twin sister,” Blaine stammered.

In the following months, when Blaine and Elizabeth joined Kurt at McKinley for their senior year, Kurt became one of her best friends. And with the guilt that swelled in her stomach as she embraced him, she learned to be grateful for that.

*****

Disaster struck in November. Kurt's voice reached for Elizabeth through the phone: “Liz... It's _Blaine_...”

Elizabeth made the half hour drive in a mere ten minutes, barreling through the doors of the emergency room, her eyes scanning for Kurt. A movement out of the corner of the room caught her attention as Kurt breathed her name. “ _Liz_.”

She knelt in front of Kurt, heart racing. “What _happened_?”

“They came... They c -- came out of nowhere, Liz, I swear. He went back to the car to grab something and he was gone such a long time, I went to check on him and he just...” Elizabeth's hand found Kurt's knee, and a fresh stream of tears sprung from Kurt's eyes. “He was just _lying_ there,” he gasped. “I don't even know who did it but he was bleeding and unconscious and they --” Kurt paled and started to tremble in his seat, reaching out for Elizabeth's shoulder. “Liz, they... They _wrote_ on him...” Kurt's words muddled and his voice fell on deaf ears; a flash of red flooded Elizabeth's vision and an old memory floated on her irises: _FAG..._

She gripped Kurt's knee a little harder, fighting to keep her breathing even. Kurt's hysteria brought her back to her senses. “This is all my fault. I should --”

“ _No_ ,” Elizabeth seethed through gritted teeth. “This is _not_ your fault, Kurt.” _It's mine_. Kurt glanced up as the door swung open, revealing Carole. “Carole,” she inquired, “how is he? How bad is it?”

Carole sighed, relaxing into Burt's embrace as his hands found her shoulders. “Not as bad as we thought when we brought him in. He's a little banged up, needed six stitches for the gash on his forehead. Concussion and three fractured ribs, but he'll heal. He's going to be fine, Elizabeth. He's conscious now.”

_Fine_ wasn't good enough. He was _broken_ , shattered to pieces and it was her fault. “Can I see him?” she asked, rising to her feet.

Carole nodded. “We've been trying to get hold of your parents but Kurt said they're out of state --”

“You can probably get in touch with my mom by morning.”

Elizabeth moved to follow Carole through the doorway but the older woman placed a hand on her arm. “Try to calm him down, okay? He needs to stay awake but he can't afford to be agitated right now and he's...” Carole shifted uncomfortably, her eyes finding Kurt's. “They only want family in right now but he's... He's _begging_ to see you, Kurt. I told him you were okay but he wants to see you himself, I think.”

Kurt blinked rapidly, his gaze faltering to the floor, his shoulders dropping. Elizabeth turned and took his hand in hers, pulling him to his feet. “You are as much family to him as I am. Come on.”

Up three floors, down two hallways and on the sixth door to the right, Elizabeth pushed Kurt through an open door into a dimly lit room. The boys' eyes met and Elizabeth suddenly understood: Kurt was the key to fixing this. Kurt was the only way Elizabeth wouldn't fail Blaine.

“ _Kurt_.”

“ _Blaine_.”

She watched as Kurt cascaded into Blaine's arms, heard her brother's sharp intake of breath as Kurt's arm hit his ribcage. Kurt's lips moved and three words tumbled into Blaine's ear: “I _love_ you.”

Elizabeth moved to stand outside the door frame, plastered her back against the wall, and inhaled. She caught the eye of a man in a white coat down the hall, and the monster in her veins burned a little more.

*****

_I know this is really upsetting for you. It reminds you of your mom's funeral, doesn't it?  
The casket was bigger. But yes._

It was innocent enough at first, harmless. Tina woke her from the chair she'd fallen asleep in the library in December. Fatigue, Elizabeth was familiar with that. Christmas had her drained enough to spend two afternoons in bed; a blizzard hit at the new year and her mother threatened to put a padlock on her door. January arrived and she started to arouse suspicion in the members of New Directions. She nearly fainted down a set of stairs between the third and fourth floor on the 8th; Puck had been the one to catch her by the elbow and help her get steady on her feet. But it was Quinn who witnessed the worst, Quinn who turned traitor. The 17th found Elizabeth gripping the edge of porcelain in the girl's bathroom on the third floor for the entirety of third period and it was Quinn who stumbled upon her, pale and trembling and unable to stand. She refused Quinn's offer to take her to the nurse but accepted her proffered hand, muscles straining as she fought to stand. Quinn's brow furrowed and she glanced at her frame from head to toe, biting her lip. It was a long moment before she said, “You should tell someone. You should tell your brother, at least.”

Elizabeth blanched. “No. Blaine is the _last_ person I want to know about this.”

Quinn shook her head in disbelief. “He's your brother. He's your twin. You two are thick as thieves. You _have_ to tell him --”

“ _No_ ,” Elizabeth said again, more firmly. “And I'd appreciate it if you didn't say anything to him either.” Quinn clucked in disapproval and let go of Elizabeth's arm. Assured that Elizabeth could stand on her own two feet, Quinn spun on her heel and disappeared out the bathroom door.

Kurt cornered her at her locker during lunch sixth period. “You have to tell Blaine, Liz.”

Elizabeth huffed in frustration, shelving a book into her locker. “Of course,” she scoffed. “Of course Quinn would tell you, since I wouldn't let her tell Blaine.”

“You can't keep something like this from him, Liz!” Kurt insisted. Elizabeth slammed her locker door shut and made her way down the hallway to the choir room. “Quinn was right to tell me. I can't believe Blaine doesn't know about this. I mean, you two are so close --”

“I _know_ ,” she snapped. “This is kind of uncharted territory, okay? I've thought about telling him. But I just can't. The least you can do is let me keep my own secrets. I'm the one who has to live with the guilt here, not you.”

“But it's not just guilt you're harboring,” Kurt pointed out. “And you can't keep it a secret forever. He's going to find out eventually. Just _tell_ Blaine --”

“Tell me what?”

The pair stopped by the piano and snapped their heads identically to find Blaine settled in a chair amongst the rest of New Directions, waiting for rehearsal to start. Elizabeth blanched. “ _Nothing_ ,” she said through gritted teeth, glaring at Kurt. Kurt met her fierce gaze with his own and, when she didn't speak again, he turned back to Blaine.

“Your sister's pregnant.”

A collective gasp rang through the room. Quinn pursed her lips but didn't comment. Puck fidgeted in his chair uncomfortably, and Tina spoke first. “Is that why you were asleep in the library?”

“And why you almost fainted down a flight of stairs a week and a half ago?” Puck tacked on.

“And why I found you hugging the toilet during third period,” Quinn stated; it wasn't a question.

Blaine looked from the rest of New Directions to Kurt to Elizabeth and rose from his chair. “Lizzie?” He stopped a few feet in front of her, his eyes scanning her face. “Are you...?”

Color had found its way back to Elizabeth's face. “What?” she gaped. “ _No_. God, no. Kurt, _what the hell_?”

Kurt threw up his hands in defense. “Quinn found you worshiping the porcelain throne this morning. She's got personal experience with this, what did you expect us to think?”

“Wait,” Blaine interrupted, putting a hand up. “Wait, so... You're not pregnant?”

“Don't you think I'd tell you if I was sleeping with someone?”

Blaine answered, “Yes” at the same time that Kurt and Quinn answered, “No.” Blaine looked at them in confusion before focusing back on Elizabeth. “Okay, _what_ is going on here, Lizzie? Can _you_ just tell me instead of me having to figure out the tangled web of gossip here?”

There were those eyes again, hazel finding green; Kurt's blue reflected off of Blaine's lenses and Elizabeth's heart caught in her throat. “No,” she said quietly.

Blaine's shoulders fell. “What? I don't understand. Why can't you just... Why can't you just tell me, Lizzie?”

“Because this... is not the time... or the place,” she bit out, grasping at straws for truth.

Her twin's eyes flashed and his fingers flexed. “No,” he said, fighting to keep his voice calm, “I think this is _exactly_ the time and the place. _You're keeping secrets from me._ ”

Elizabeth rushed to deny the malicious accusation but couldn't bring herself to do it, couldn't bring herself to pile on another lie. “Blaine,” she said, tears catching in her throat, “ _don't make me do this_.”

“Don't make you do what?” he said scathingly. “Be honest with me? No, how about you don't do _this_ to me? For the first time in our lives, you're not sharing. I can't get into your head. You are breaking this. You are breaking _us_. I don't know what you're thinking or feeling. And I hate it. I _hate_ it, Lizzie.”

He spoke her name and suddenly the thread between them was almost tangible again, twisting and spiraling and unraveling before her eyes. And to her left, there was Kurt, standing, breathing, clutching a binder to his chest, his eyes darting, lingering more often on his boyfriend. Kurt, a bright, burning beacon, a lifeboat. _Kurt was the key to fixing this_. Finally, tears swimming in her eyes, she answered her brother's earnest question. “Chemotherapy,” she breathed, her knees shaking.

Blaine's face clouded in confusion and behind her, Elizabeth heard Mr. Schuester's footsteps as entered the room. “What?”

“Chemotherapy,” she repeated, a little louder, a little clearer. “Everything that they mentioned, they're side effects of chemotherapy.” Mr. Schuester stood at her right, his face fixed in disbelief.

Kurt paled, a feat Elizabeth didn't think was possible. His voice was low and quiet when he managed to bring himself to speak. “C -- cancer?”

Elizabeth met Kurt's blue eyes, silently pleading with him to stay, to fix this, to fix Blaine, to fix _her_. Blaine spoke again, much quieter than before, but Elizabeth couldn't bring herself to look at him. “Lizzie?”

She closed her eyes, her whole body shaking in trepidation. Opening her eyes, she picked up a pair of scissors and, opening her mouth, cut the thread between her and her twin: “Cancer,” she affirmed. “I have... I have c -- cancer.”

“ _Oh Liz_ ,” Kurt breathed. He immediately sank onto the piano bench, letting his binder drop to the floor as he gripped his knees. Elizabeth felt for him; she'd be the second he lost to this disease.

She felt Mr. Schuester place a hand gently on her arm as he asked, “How long?”

She met Blaine's gaze again, saw his features soften, knew he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. This would hurt him more. And again, it was her fault. Again, she failed. Not bothering to fight back her tears, she instinctively leaned a little closer to her twin, pleading. “Why do you think Mom sent me to Switzerland?”

A rush of air left Blaine's body as his jaw slackened. “But...” he stammered. “But that was two and a half years ago.”

Elizabeth's lips quivered as the tears brimmed over, hot and fresh. “I thought I was in remission last summer. That's why... That's why I came home. To be with you. To start over.”

Blaine's body sagged. “Two and a half years? Two and a half _years_ you've been keeping this from me, Lizzie?”

“I'm sorry,” she sobbed. “I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry.”

Blaine shook his head in disbelief, his eyes vacant. And then suddenly his body seized and his voice wasn't his own. “Cancer. You... You have _cancer_.”

She found the courage to take a step towards him and reach out a shaking hand. “ _Blaine_ ,” she breathed.

At her touch, Blaine let out a breath and squeezed his eyes shut. “I... I think I'm going to be sick.” Kurt's head snapped up as Blaine spun on his heel, reaching out blindly for doors that weren't within reach. As he stumbled out of the doorway, Mr. Schuester made to follow him but Kurt blocked him with a resounding, “ _No_ ,” before grabbing Elizabeth's hand and pulling her after Blaine with force.

Kurt banged open the stall door with a resounding _thud_ but Blaine didn't even flinch, didn't turn around. Kurt let go of Elizabeth's hand and knelt down beside Blaine, reaching out his hand and running it down his boyfriend's back. And there it was, the memory complete, but this time it may as well have been her that had splattered red in her twin's face. Once more, with feeling: _I failed you_. The thread between Kurt and her brother sprung to life again, burning brightly and twining itself around them; somewhere on the floor, the frayed ends of the twins' thread lay discarded. _Kurt is the only way I won't fail you._ Elizabeth remained standing as she spoke: “You remind him of me.”

Both boys turned their heads up to look at her, Blaine inadvertently shifting his body closer to Kurt's as he did so. “You... You're honest, Kurt. He loves that about you. You make him laugh and you accept him for who he is, on good days and bad days. You love him when he's charming the pants off of everyone around him, you love him when he makes bad jokes. You love him when he's happy and you love him when he's in pain. You forgive him when he makes mistakes.” A blush rose to Kurt's cheeks. “And when he felt like he was losing himself in a sea of blazers, you came along and reminded him that it was okay to be _proud_ of who he was. You _saved_ him, Kurt.”

Kurt was shaking his head violently at this but Elizabeth's courage had outgrown her and she knelt down beside the boys, taking Kurt's head in her hands. “Kurt, listen to me. _Listen_. You did everything I couldn't do for him. I'm all he's ever had, but you're everything he _needs_.”

Kurt gaped at her. “Liz...”

But Elizabeth shook her head, kept her grip on Kurt's face firm. “You two... You're a once in a lifetime kind of thing, you know that? I just... I think about what his future is going to be like and I can't envision one without you in it. You have to _promise_ me that you're going to be there for him, Kurt, because I _can't_ be.”

For the first time in several minutes, Blaine reacted. “ _Lizzie_ ,” he breathed quietly. She dropped one hand from Kurt's face and immediately offered it to her twin, meeting his eyes with a confidence she knew she didn't have. Blaine smiled a little and then faltered, taking her hand and letting his sister pull him into her embrace. His head fell to her shoulder and she heard him start to cry in earnest. Kurt took his boyfriend's free hand. The three of them sat on the tile floor for the better part of an hour and, with a smile, Elizabeth watched as threads repaired themselves and entwined, encircled the three of them and bound tightly.

_I failed you. But Kurt won't._

*****

“I'd like to give my speech to someone much more deserving, someone who will actually make it mean something: Elizabeth Anderson.” Quinn Fabray turned from her place at the lectern, flashing a radiant smile at Elizabeth, who, in turn, smiled back, rising from her chair and crossing the stage to take Quinn's place, the time allotted for her valedictorian's speech. She paused as they crossed paths, biting her lip as Quinn's hand gripped her arm. She glanced out at the crowd, mostly unfamiliar faces flooding her vision, inhaled, and began.

“I've only been a McKinley for a year,” she prefaced. “This speech shouldn't belong to me, doesn't belong to me. But I didn't need to be here for four years to feel every bit a Titan, to gain a family, to feel like I belonged. And with what I knew about this place coming into it, it's easy to say it's exceeded my expectations.” Somewhere behind her, she heard Noah Puckerman chuckle. “Everyone always talks about life after high school, about dreams and plans and ambitions. Everyone expects you to go somewhere, to do something, to _be_ somebody. And in reality, most of the people sitting behind me,” she gestured to the seniors, “are going to stay in Lima, Ohio. And maybe I'm a little biased, but being in glee club kind of alters a person's perception of that. Try surviving dumpster tosses every day for a year, or be on the receiving end of a slushie facial.” Behind her, she heard the quiet, collective murmur of a agreement from the rest of New Directions. “When you're at the bottom, the only way out is up. And our dreams have always been bigger than this town.”

She drew in a breath, and then, “I've been battling cancer for a few years.” There was an uncomfortable shift in front of her, behind her, but she gripped the wooden edges of the lectern a little harder and pressed on. “In March, my oncologist told me that I stopped responding to treatments. He said I'd be lucky to make it to the end of June, that I'd be lucky to be standing at my graduation.” She paused and smiled, literally _felt_ Blaine's smile mirror hers even though she couldn't see it. “All I've heard anyone talk about this year is getting out, making something of themselves. No one wants to be defined by their high school career. It's a constant fear, a refrain: _I don't want to be a Lima loser._ And it's sort of ironic, almost comical, really, because... that's all I'm ever going to be. That's all I'm ever going to have to my name.” She glanced sideways and caught the eye of Mr. Schuester, who offered an encouraging smile. “And I wouldn't trade that in for anything.” She could hear Rachel Berry start to cry.

“These people, these kids... They've been my friends, they've been my enemies. They've been my family. They are all I have to remember this life by and they made it... extraordinary.” Her heart caught in her throat, her breath hitched, her voice broke. She fought not to cry. “They have their whole lives in front of them. They have opportunity, they have choices. They have the chance to make a difference, to _be somebody_. I don't... I...” She broke eye contact with the audience of parents and friends, of aunts and uncles and grandparents. Her eyes closed and there was silence, until... “ _I'm limited... Just look at me. I'm limited..._ ” Elizabeth turned to catch Blaine's gaze, saw him staring at her with warm, wet, fixed eyes. Her courage grew a little. “ _And just look at you, you can do all I couldn't do. So now it's up to you, for both of us._ ” Blaine's hand reached out to his left and latched onto Kurt's, clutching, squeezing, grabbing. “ _Now it's up to you..._ ” Elizabeth's voice faltered but a lull was absent as Kurt's voice rang high and clear across the auditorium.

Rachel followed Kurt, and then Mercedes, and one by one, the members of New Directions formed a line across the stage, voices harmonizing. And then, finally, blissfully, Elizabeth heard Blaine's voice, “ _It well may be that we will never meet again in this lifetime_ ,” and saw his hand reach out for hers. And a seven-year-old Blaine was singing to his sister, her decade old promise threaded between them, “ _So let me say before we part, so much of me is made of what I learned from you._ ” Kurt's chin found her shoulder, “ _You'll be with me like a handprint on my heart_.”

*****

Blaine bounced on the balls of his feet, a rhythmic squeak grating against Elizabeth's eardrums with each rise and fall. Her fingers slipped against his lapel on his sixth bounce, eliciting a sigh. “Blaine,” she said evenly, “stop fidgeting. I'm never going to get this boutonniere in if you don't stop moving.” He obeyed, his chest stiffening in a fashion a little too rigid for her liking. “And breathe. I know you're nervous but you're not even going to make it out there if you don't _breathe_.”

She managed to get the boutonniere fastened to the buttonhole a split second before Blaine breathed out. His limbs and face shook but her eyes found his smile, bright and brilliant. “What would I do without you?” he chuckled. Elizabeth's fingers haltingly traced their way down Blaine's jacket, unanswering, as she refused to meet his gaze. In her silence, her brother seemed to realize the gravity of his words and reached his hand up, fingers enclosing around her palm.

“I'm sorry,” she breathed, tightening their grip.

“What?” he asked. “Why are you sorry?”

“I'm sorry I'm not going to be here for you anymore,” she clarified. The tips of his fingers brushed against her knuckles and hot tears hit his skin. “I'm sorry... I'm sorry I failed you.” Her tears came freely now. “All our lives, it's all I've ever tried to do, to just _not fail you_. And I couldn't do that. I keep falling short and I can't fix it. The bullies and Dad and all of the goddamn homophobes and the attack and now this stupid, stupid cancer... I tried so hard to be there for you, Blaine, I _tried_ and nothing I did helped. And you don't know how much that kills me, how much it hurts, how all I want is for you to be happy. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, _I'msorry_.”

Blaine reached his free hand and settled it on the nape of his sister's neck, pulling her towards him; he squeezed her hand a little tighter. “You didn't fail me, Lizzie.” He felt her start to shake her head against his chest and lowered his head, inhaling as his nose made contact with her head. “No, listen to me. You didn't fail me. It wasn't your job to take care of me. It wasn't your job to make the world better for me, but you tried anyway. And the fact that you _tried_ \-- God, you don't even know what that _means_ to me, to have my sister, my twin, my best friend be in my corner since before we were even born.” Elizabeth pulled away a little and Blaine's fingers found her chin, tilting her head to his to meet his eyes. “You're here _now_. You're here on my _wedding day_. You... You drove us _twelve_ hours just so we could do this legally, so you could be here for this. You're here when I'm about to get _married_. Do you even know how huge this is for me, that I get to have my sister who is living under a _death sentence_ be at my _wedding_?” A warmth flooded Elizabeth's eyes as she fought back a smile. “If you've ever failed me before, you're sure as hell not now. You're not failing me, Lizzie. You never have.”

*****

The last night Elizabeth Anderson lived she spent awake, her blankets stained with Blaine's tears, his hand enclosing hers. A calm washed over her every time she caught Kurt's eye across the room, the gold on his finger burning her retinas and irises. Her words to Kurt echoed and vibrated around her skull: _I'm leaving him with you; you're the reason I haven't failed him._ Before her breath left her at dawn, she granted Blaine one last song, one last serenade, one last melody. “ _Have you ever wished for an endless night? Lassoed the moon and the stars and pulled that rope tight? Have you ever held your breath and asked yourself will it ever get better than tonight?_ ” But dawn came, the lights of the night slipped through her fingers and the sun rose. She held her breath and didn't let it go; her promises disappeared with the dark.

At Elizabeth's funeral in late August, Blaine was the last one to leave the graveyard. That time, it was Kurt who offered up his hand, and as Blaine took it, Elizabeth passed the torch to her brother's husband: _I will not fail you._


End file.
